“Brianna. Brianna Concannon Thane. She runs a B and B in Clare. You may have heard of her husband as well. He’s a successful mystery writer.”

“Grayson Thane?” At Hobbs’s nod, Shannon did nearly laugh. “They married well, it seems. Good for them. Tell them they can get on with their lives, as I intend to do.” She rose. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Hobbs?”

“I’m to ask if you’d like to have your mother’s letters, and if so, if you would object to my clients making copies for themselves.”

“I don’t want them. I don’t want anything.” She bit back on a sudden spurt of venom, letting out a sigh as it drained. “What happened is no more their fault than mine. I don’t know how they feel about all of this, Mr. Hobbs, and don’t care to. If it’s curiosity, misplaced guilt, a sense of family obligation, you can tell them to let it go.”

Hobbs rose as well. “From the time, effort, and money they’ve spent trying to find you, I’d say it was a combination of all three. And perhaps more. But I’ll tell them.” He offered a hand, surprising Shannon into taking it. “If you have second thoughts, or any questions come to mind, you can reach me at the number on the card. I’ll be flying back to New York tonight.”

His cool tone stung. She couldn’t say why. “I have a right to my privacy.”

“You do.” He nodded. “I’ll see myself out, Ms. Bodine. Thanks for the time, and the coffee.”

Damn him, was all she could think as he walked calmly out of her kitchen. Damn him for being so dispassionate, so subtly judgmental.

And damn them. Damn Thomas Concannon’s daughters for searching her out, asking her to satisfy their curiosity. Offering to satisfy her own.

She didn’t want them. Didn’t need them. Let them stay in Ireland with their cozy lives and brilliant husbands. She had her own life, and the pieces of it needed to be picked up quickly.

Wiping at tears she hadn’t realized were falling, she stalked over and snatched up the phone book. She flipped through quickly, ran her finger down the page, then dialed.

“Yes, I have a house I need to sell. Immediately.”

A week later Shannon was back in New York. She’d priced the house to sell, and hoped it would do so quickly. The money certainly didn’t matter. She’d discovered she was a rich woman. Death had given her nearly a half a million dollars in the investments her father had made over the years. Added to her earlier inheritance, she would never have to worry about something as trivial as money again.

She’d only had to become an orphan to earn it.

Still, she was enough Colin Bodine’s daughter to know the house had to be sold, and that it would bring in considerable equity. Some of the furnishings she hadn’t had the heart to sell or give away were in storage. Surely she could wait a little longer before deciding what to do with every vase and lamp.